Mikhael

“Yes, Alvin, I’ll send the report by tonight,” I say into the phone, adjusting the strap of my briefcase as I walk through the empty street.

The street is unusually quiet for a Friday night, vacant like a desert. Did everyone have plans except me? Plus the chill in the wind doesn’t help.

“Are you out at the club with everyone else?” His voice grates at my ear, laced with faux concern and breaking me out of my thoughts.

I can’t help the sigh that escapes me. He saw me decline the invitation from my colleagues after our successful meeting. He knows I head straight to my part-time job after work. So why ask? To scold? To poke? To remind me he thinks he knows best?

“No, I’m not,” I answer quickly, hoping he would move on from the topic but Alvin, as always, can’t leave me alone. 

“Clubs are nothing but leeches—overpriced drinks, scandalous atmosphere. Men your age should be thinking about settling down, making a family. Find a woman of your type and treat her like the only one you deserve.”

I grit my teeth. His voice drones on like static, an echo of expectations I’ve never asked for as my patience thins. My hand itches to hurl the phone into the nearest gutter, but the condition of my phone makes me act otherwise. Instead, I let my words flow.

“That must be your secret to a successful marriage, isn’t it, Alvin?”

The line goes silent. One breath. Two. Then the click of disconnection.

Relief washes through me. He definitely didn’t like that. Because the truth is, what I said was wrong in a thousand ways. Alvin is a divorced man, and everyone knows why. He cheated on his wife.

Now, I've dug my own grave. Luckily, I wouldn’t be fired—my position was secured through a direct recommendation from the senior executive but Alvin? He wouldn’t let this slide. He’d pester me for days, and if he is feeling interested in making my life hell, then weeks. 

“He deserved it,” I mutter under my breath as I turn into a side alley. Taking shortcuts in Vastria is never a smart idea, the streets are notorious for shadow-stealers. Still, this is the best route if I want to reach the restaurant on time. Plus the beings had been dormant for days, at least according to the news.

Yet a chill sweeps over the narrow path, seeping into my skin like ice water as shapes slither out of the darkness—bodies twisted, mangled, missing limbs. Their distorted forms flicker like broken reflections, and my stomach churns at the sight.

I raise my fists, sliding the briefcase off my shoulder and letting it fall behind me as my focus locks on them. I feel myself tremble from fear, but I can’t let it show. They feed on weakness, and the last thing I can afford is letting them believe they have the upper hand.

I scan the alleyway and there’s only three of them. I can take them if I stay one step ahead of them—dodging, countering, never letting them close in at once.

The first one lunges, a blur of smoke and claws. I pivot back on my heel, barely slipping past its swipe, but the claw of its shadowy hand tears across my left upper arm. White-hot pain surges through me.

“Ugh! Damn it.”

The others close in immediately, inhumanely fast. I drop low as one slashes where my head had been, then explode upward, twisting my hips and snapping into a roundhouse kick. My heel connects cleanly with its head, except my foot slices through empty black mist, like striking fog.

This distraction costs me. The third one moves with impossible speed, giving me no chance to recover. Dread fills my body. This must be it. I will end the same way dad did.

But the blow never comes.

I blink, and everything changes. The alley is gone, replaced by open air rushing against my skin. I am weightless, carried by arms as we soar from one rooftop to the next.

Instinct takes over. My arms lock around my savior’s neck, holding on tight as my heartbeat thrums in disbelief. Slowly, I force myself to lift my eyes, to see the face of the one who pulled me from the jaws of death.

And I am stunned.

“Shadowman?!” The word tears from my throat as the outline of his mask becomes distinct in the chilly air. He looks down at me but never falters, leaping effortlessly from one rooftop to the next.

“We should land somewhere safe before anything else.” His voice is subdued through the mask, as if he fears the ones he saved me from might still be on our trail.

We leap across more rooftops, the city blurring beneath us. The height should terrify me, but instead I feel strangely calm. Maybe it’s the rush of speed or maybe it’s simply him. Is this what it feels like to be rescued by Shadowman? Safe, not just from stealers…but from everything and nothing, all at once.

I steal a glance at him. Will I ever be this close again to really see him? Even with the mask concealing his face, his presence alone is magnetic, pulling me in without effort.

“This should be enough.” His voice cuts through my thoughts as we descend, landing on a patch of grass. I recognize the place as the playground just around the corner from my apartment. His grip at my waist eases as he sets me down, and I steady myself with his hand before standing fully on my own.

Silence lingers as we stand there, caught in each other’s gaze. A million words press at the edge of my tongue—gratitude for saving dad, admiration for how he always protects the people of Vastria but now that he’s right in front of me, I’m blank.

“Uh…so this is what it feels like to be carried by a superhero, huh?” I blurt out, hoping to break the ice. A faint curve tugs at his lips, but it fades as his eyes lower to my arms.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, his voice laced with concern.

Instinctively, I pull my arms back, trying to hide the scratches the stealers left behind.

“It’s nothing,” I dismiss quickly. “A bandage will fix it right up.”

Nevertheless, he takes my left hand and places it over his. “You’re a bad liar.” He turns my palm upward and cups it with his other gloved hand.
“You’re not fooling anyone with that handsome face.”

“I’m not trying to,” I murmur, “but making others worry is something I’d rather not make a habit of.”

“Worrying is human nature. You can never truly erase it.”

“But you can lessen it by showing you’re fine.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Is that what you’ve been doing your entire life?”

Before I can ask what he means, he leans closer until our foreheads touch. His presence is grounding. Then I feel the light brush of his hand over the scratches.

“Power of the shadows and the darkness within me, let this man be protected from any future attacks from the stealers,” he chants.

I close my eyes, caught between the warmth of the contact and the silence of not knowing how to respond.

When I open my eyes, he is already gone. In his place sits my briefcase, balanced neatly on the ground. I bend down, pick it up, and glance at the sky, wishing I could have at least thanked him. But as always, nothing ever goes the way I want.

I dust off my clothes, turn around, and start walking out of the playground. That’s when something clicks me…

Did he just call me handsome?